Dear Prudence
by The Nowhere Girl
Summary: Eleven-year-old Prudence Baker has just lost her mother to a crowd of vicious Beatles fans. Now, the orphan has nowhere to go. Then the Beatles, feeling guilty, decide to adopt her. But at what cost? Collab with beatlestrawberrii! :
1. Chapter 1

**Ugh. I'm sorry guys! I'm writing ANOTHER ONE! And I'm not even close to being done on mine! **

**So if anyone wants to help me collab on this, PM me and I will give you details.**

**Thank you.**

**~michelleandjulia**

**

* * *

**Running. Wasn't that how it always started? Running? To or from something?

Running to catch up with my father. Trying to reach his hand, even knowing at six that the car would hit.

Running to catch my dog before he was lost in the woods forever.

Running every day from school to get to my mother's filming studio before the crowd did.

And now, running away from my new "family" and the funeral proceedings.

Because my mother was dead.

* * *

You probably think I'm ridiculous. Being depressed and wishing I wasn't living with them. But, I would rather have my mother.

My mother works, worked, at a filming studio. The one that had just signed the Beatles to do a movie named, "A Hard Day's Night." And we had to get there, we just had to!

I remember, my mother's hand slipping from mine. The endless sea of people pushing us apart. The first scream mingled with the other voices, ignored and forgotten. Then the final, fatal scream, a bloodcurdling sound that quieted and stilled the crowd. I pushed through the people, trying to reach my mother. I knew it was her voice, I just knew.

When I finally came upon her, my broken, bleeding mother, I knew she was gone. I tried to wake her up, more for me than for her. And I should have just let her be, not wake her up to her painful reality. But my attempts were all in vain. I didn't want to leave. Not my mother. And I screamed at her to take me with her. I didn't want to be alone.

Two warm arms pulled me up. And I struggled and kicked, but I would not be set down. I was pulled away from the scene, a man carrying me away. Police officers came and took the body away. And I was left alone in the studio with the four teen idols and my mother's co-workers.

"Prudence?" the receptionist asked me. She knew me from when I would come in and would always give me a wink and a sweet. She grabbed my shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"I'm sorry, dear," she said. She kissed my forehead and let me go.

"Prudence? Is that your name?" a man asked. He leaned down and looked me straight in the eyes. I nodded, knowing if I spoke, it would come out as a mangled scream.

"I'm Paul, and this is John, George, and Ringo," he said. I observed the four of them. Ringo was staring out, almost as if he could see through the wall. George's face was screwed up with a mixture of guilt and concern. Paul looked at me fondly. John threw a hard glare through the room.

"I know who you are," I said, testing out my shaky voice. I looked away, wiping the tear out of my eye. John's withering stare softened. He leaned down and pushed my hair out of my face.

"Where's your daddy?" he asked softly, gently.

"He died when I was six," I whispered. He scooped me up and cradled me, sitting down on the couch.

"Brian?" he asked an important looking man.

"What is it John?" Brian said.

"She reminds me of meself," he said. Ringo sat down beside John, who was stroking my hair and took my hand.

"What happened to her mother?" Ringo asked.

"She just got trampled by our fans," George told him.

"So it's our faults innit?" Ringo said.

"It really isn't boys," the receptionist said.

"It is. And we can't do a thing about it," Paul said sadly.

"There is one thing," John said quietly. The eyes of the man named Brian narrowed.

"What John?" he hissed.

"We can adopt her," Paul said in awe, as if he and John communicated telepathically.

And that's how I ended up here. Running from my mother's funeral.

People kept telling me they were sorry. But the thing is, I don't want to here it. Sorry doesn't fix anything. It only makes you feel weak.

And my new family would be enough wouldn't it?

Because all four of them signed their names on the adoption papers.

* * *

**All right. If anyone wants to help with this one, PM me. **

**How do you think it is so far? You know what to do. ;)**

**~michelleandjulia**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sarah's AN: Hey guys! Well, it's me, Sarah. Or better known as michelleandjulia. You'll see that I have another author with me. So, I will humbly hand over the spotlight.**

**Gaby's AN: Hihi! *salutes* For those who are confused at my name and haven't read the story's summary, I'm beatlestrawberrii. As you can see, or, rather, read, I'm new here to the story. Enjoy the chapter, and, very importantly, review, because it makes everyone's day! Even Pikachu's day becomes instantly better when someone reviews. So, please, review. For the Pikachus.**

I woke up to the strong smell of coffee. My roommate, Rayne, always brewed some in the early mornings. It was my alarm clock, basically. I hoisted myself off the bed and massaged my shoulders. The old springy mattress was highly uncomfortable. I headed off towards the kitchen (an interesting title, because our home had no walls inside except for the bathroom), rubbing my purple eyes with dark circles underneath, and addressed Rayne.

"'Morning."

"G'mornin', Schala dear," she positively chirped. She was five years older than me—twenty-two—and always treated me like a ten-year-old. Which was good, though, because I needed a maternal figure, seeing as I lacked one. But that was my fault, not hers.

I sipped my coffee, the hot liquid searing my tongue. I liked the feeling, though. Anyhow, I wouldn't survive the day ahead if I didn't drink it. I'd probably fall asleep while working, since I got in at seven and left at three, and afterwards had a job from five to one in the morning. I used the hour in between to nap, and woke up at six, so that's like six hours of sleep each day. My cat, Nina, slithered between my legs, her orange fur brushing my pale skin. She purred in hello. I scratched her behind the ear with my toe.

Rayne looked at the single clock hanging on the barren, chipped walls. "You should be going now, Schala. It's half past six," She took the empty mug from my hands.

"Ah! Okay. Thanks, Rayne!" I rushed off to the bathroom, where I combed my hair and brushed my teeth. I dashed towards the door, where my oversized trench coat (I loved those things) stood on a rack. I pulled it on, along with my shoes. I had fallen asleep with my day clothes on yesterday—or, should I say, the early morning.

I called out a goodbye to Rayne and Nina, exiting our battered, cheap house. It was in terrible conditions. How it hadn't fallen down yet, I don't know. But it was the cheapest house on the market, and was home to me. That should be enough. I dashed off towards the bus stop, which was next to an electronics store. I hadn't watched television in years, and looked at the customary morning news the display tellies had on while waiting for the bus.

"_In latest news, a woman identified as a Mrs. Baker was trampled to death near Twickenham Studios yesterday around midday. The woman was—"_

"Oh my God. Oh my God." I gaped at the screen, my ears buzzing. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be my mother. Even though she worked at Twickenham. And her surname was Baker by marriage. But that couldn't be. It was some passerby, it had to be!

"—_her daughter, Prudence, has been orphaned and taken into custody by—"_

At this point tears welled in my eyes. _And_ she had a daughter named Prudence, just like my sister. But that couldn't be either. It was a stupid goddamn coincidence! It _had_ to be!

"NO!" I screeched, banging my fist on the display window, so that it resounded with a deep _bonnng_. Everyone looked at me. Like I'd care.

A bus screeched to a stop. It wasn't mine, but I didn't care. I knew it was going to Twickenham Studios. It didn't matter that I could lose my job that I'd worked so hard in for the last two years for just not showing up to work for no reason.

But this _was_ a reason. So I climbed into the bus, wanting nothing more than an answer.

...

_"Pru? Pru?"_

_"Mom?" My mother's warm face._

_"Where is your sister?"_

_"I don't know! Schala? Schala! Where are you, Schala?"_

_..._

"Prudence? Wake up!"

"Mom?" I asked the voice.

"Ha! She thought you were her mum!" John laughed.

"Shut your face!" Paul snapped.

"Paul? John? Why am I here? Where's my...oh yeah." I said, not finishing the question.

"Um, who's Schala?" John asked.

"Yeah. You've been talkin' 'bout her all night!" George said after materializing out of nowhere.

"My older sister," I said angrily.

"Well, where is she?" John pried. I shot him an angry glance and he hid behind Paul.

"She's murderous," Paul laughed.

"She ran away when she was fifteen," I said, tucking my bluish-black hair behind my ears.

"Why?" Paul asked.

"I don't know. But she left me alone," I said, my voice cracking and showing the sadness I tried to hide. George sat next to me and held my hand reassuringly.

"It'll be alright," he said.

...

I barged into the reception area of Twickenham, looking around everywhere. No matter that my mother was trampled to death yesterday. It happened _here_. I wanted answers right fucking _now_.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked, narrowing her eyes. I must look demented or something.

"A woman died yesterday," I stuttered.

The woman's eyes widened. "Yes," she looked down.

"Who?" I asked ferociously, failing to keep my cool.

"A Mrs. Mary Baker," the receptionist said. Wait a second—I _knew_ this lady! What was her name...? "Trampled by the crowd, poor lady... We were close..." She sniffled.

"Ms. Penn?" I looked up. That was her name...I think.

"Yes? Wait a second, you look—Schala?"

I smiled feebly. "Yeah. ...What—w-what happened to Prudence?"

She looked at me with an unreadable expression. "She...she was adopted."

"By _who_?"

"By the Beatles themselves, Schala dear."

...

_**KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.**_

"Who the bloody hell! At 8 in the morning!" John started hissing under his breath. He opened the door the reveal a slightly battered girl. But the strange hair and eye color of purplish-blue alerted me to who she was immediately. She looked around the room and spotted me.

"Why?" I screamed. I ran over to her and she hugged me. But I pounded on her back.

"WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! You left me alone with Mom! WHY!" I screamed.

"Pru. Calm down," she said.

"NO! WHY DID YOU DO IT! WHY, SCHALA!" I yelled.

"Look at me," she said. I shook my head. "Pru," she said. I looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. And I started bawling into her shoulder. That's when John broke in.

...

"Who are _you_?" was the first thing I heard after two minutes of Prudence's crying.

Wait—there were _more_ people here? I had only noticed my sister. I looked up and gasped at who I saw. It was John freaking Lennon. I stared at him coldly, with what I hoped was my signature withering stare.

"My name's Schala, if you really must know."

"I obviously knew _that_."

"Then why the fuck would you ask?"

He looked taken aback and stalked off. I turned back to Prudence, who was clinging to me for dear life. My coat was all wet where she had been—and still was—crying. I buried my face in her neck, whispering that it was okay. I mean, what else could I say?

"Sch-Schala," she sniffled. Her wailing had ceased after who-knows-how-much time.

I hugged her. "Pru, it's alright."

"N-no, it's not!"

"It is!" I said. I tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

"Prudence, luv." I looked up again to where the soft voice came from. It was Paul. Paul McCartney. He looked at me, and I nodded. He crouched down next to Pru. "Prudence, luv, you listen to me now."

Prudence looked at him with wide, puffy eyes. "What?"

"We're all here for you," Paul spoke and hugged her.

...

I was clinging on to my sister for dear life, hoping that she wouldn't slip away. Hoping that she wasn't going to leave and that this wasn't a dream. Paul pulled me away, sweetly and gently. Crying wsan't something I usually did. Tragedy had hardened me and my sister. To show emotion was to show weakness. But at this point, what choice did I have? Everything had been building up. I was only eleven for crying out loud!

After they had calmed me down, a wave of drowsiness passed over me. Paul laid me down on the couch of their apartment and Schala draped her overcoat over me. And sleep won.

Well, at least for a little while. Nightmares whispered secrets to me that my father walked into that car on purpose. That my mother wanted to die. That my sister wishes she didn't come back. That the Beatles hated me and didn't want to take me in. And I lived through every moment again. Until, a new part came. John, Paul, George, and Ringo, all going down in flames.

I woke up to aggravated whispers.

"Well, why?"

"That's her little sister, John! She has a right to see her!"

"But why does she have to stay with us? She's rude!"

"You have no room to talk John."

"Well you're not really a walk in the park, Macca."

"Ahem," I cleared my throat loudly. Both John and Paul turned toward me.

"Pru? You're awake?" John said.

"Is Schala really staying with us?" I asked, inwardly bouncing off the walls. John grimaced.

"I don't think so sweet-heart. She just-" John started.

"She was gone for years. And you're turning her away because she was rude? She's just kinda shy, so she responds with sarcasm and acts cold. But I know the warmer side. And if I lose her again..." I said, tears starting to well up again as a whimper left my throat.

"Alright! Alright! Don't cry! She can stay! She. Can. Stay. With. Us. Don't worry your pretty head," Paul said, shooting John a look. John sighed and walked to his room. Paul looked at me and held out his hand.

"Is John mad at me?" I whispered.

"No, he's just pouting cause he didn't get his way," Paul told me. Paul took me into his room and let me sleep in his bed with him. No nightmares visited me the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Gaby's AN: Helloooo. Thank you for your reviews~ Now readreadread. Do you have anything to say, Sarah? (: *passes microphone***

**Sarah's AN: Hello! Thank you to those who reviewed. You make us happy! :) Please remember to do it at the end!**

. . . . .

**Schala**

_Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock._

I groaned.

_Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock._

I pulled the pillow over my head, trying to muffle the loud noise of the incessant knocking.

"Just let me bloody in!"

"Urr, fine. _Come in_." I grumbled.

The door slammed open to reveal a grumpy-looking John Lennon, who stomped over to the bed where I sat cross-legged, throwing him a glare. He scowled back. We stared at each other for a while.

"What is it?" I spat.

"I was sent here," he said, "To tell you that...you have to go to the living room."

"Why?"

"Just move."

"Oh, _well_ then."

"Go."

"I will."

"Now."

"Grr, I said I'm coming!"

He turned around, smirking. I followed him out, attempting to comb down my hair, which was all messed up. In the living room where the other three Beatles, plus Prudence.

"Good morning." I said stoically.

"'Lo, luv, how'd you sleep?" George asked. He had lent me his bed for the night, because I'd be heading back home today. And visit Pru occasionally, of course. But I had to get back to work.

"Well." I responded.

"Schala?"

"Yes, Prudence?"

"Mum's funeral is today." Prudence's voice cracked on 'funeral'. "The receptionist came in earlier and told us. It's at four."

I rubbed my eyes blearily. "Okay." I paused and looked around. _Why the hell was everyone staring at me? _"I suppose we'll be going?" I asked irritably.

"Yes, of course!" Prudence defended quickly.

My eyes widened. "Great. Today, then, at four..." Then something inside me snapped. "What time is it?"

Ringo checked his wristwatch. "Half past ten," he said matter-of-factly.

I ran my hands through my hair. "Ohh no. I have to go." I looked around for my coat. "Thank you all for letting me stay over, but I have a job to go to, and I—"

Prudence's hand caught mine. "No!"

I looked at her, wrenching my hand away. "I have to go, Prudence."

"You've been gone for two years, and now you're just going to leave me _again_? What the hell, Schala!"

"You don't understand, and I don't think you ever will." Mentally, I scolded myself for sounding so harsh to her.

"Oh really? Then tell me why, and maybe I will."

"I won't. Now let me go, Prudence, I seriously have to leave if I want to stay alive in this miserable existence of mine." _Jesus Christ, I sound suicidal._

"Then take me with you, Schala!"

I shook my head. "I can't. I can barely sustain myself, and you've been adopted anyway."

"You can stay with us." _Oh, damn that McCartney and his charm._

"I couldn't." I shook my head, looking at my feet. "You guys have touring and work and already have Prudence on your hands and—"

"You're basically an adult anyway. What are you, nineteen?" John stared at me.

"Seventeen," I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm seventeen."

"And you've been living alone since you were fifteen?" George asked.

"Yes. _How _is this relevant to the subject?"

Paul sighed. "The point _is_, you can stay with us. You can go on and about doing whatever you do, but you can live here and don't have to worry about paying rent or paying what you do."

"But—"

"We agreed on it." Paul affirmed. "_Didn't_ we, John?"

John shot him a death glare. "Why _yes_, Paulie dear." he said in the most cynical voice I had ever heard since mine (and that's saying a lot).

"I—"

"Macca, she's going to keep refusing until we force her to live with us." John said. "In any case, girl, you are now under house arrest and are therefore forced and obligated under the law to live with us. Your argument is invalid."

My jaw dropped stupidly. _Who did he think he was?_ "What the—! I can do whatever I please, thank you very mu—"

John wagged a finger at me. "Your argument's invalid, sweetheart."

"Grrrrrr." I wanted to rush out of the building and prove him wrong, but my subconscious was nagging me. Who was I to turn down such a good offer? So I stayed. "_Fine_."

"Yes!" Prudence cheered and hug-tackled me.

"I still have to get my things, though. Did I mention I have a cat?"

...

**Prudence**

I didn't understand how she could live in an apartment that small. The old thing was tattered and worn. I thought it looked condemed. But no, she lived in that tiny place, WITH A ROOMMATE! How could they possibly fit in there?

I turned to look at Schala. Her face was hardened into an unreadable mask. Ringo stroked my hair and asked if I was alright. I guess the shock on my face gave it away. Had I known my sister was living like this, I would have dragged her by that pretty hair of hers back home. We entered the building and saw the owner.

"Schala? Who are those boys with you?" the lady asked, obviously drunk.

"Paul McCartney at your service, madame," Paul said. Schala rolled her eyes.

"The Beatles and my little sister. I've come to gather my things. I'm leaving," Schala told her.

"Well, why don't you and your sister go get your things and I can entertain these four," she said with a wink. I gagged. Schala snickered.

"Of course," she said. She led me into her room. A woman sat in there with a newspaper.

"Hi Rayne, " Schala said in a choked whisper. The lady looked up at her.

"Schala?" Rayne asked.

"I'm leaving. I'm going to live with my little sister," Schala told her. Rayne nodded and looked down at her paper. Schala closed her shining eyes and turned away.

I understood why Rayne didn't want to say goodbye.

...

**Schala**

"Come on, we're gonna be late." Prudence said as she grabbed my hand and led me out the door, where we went down several flights of stairs, out the back door and into John's car. The guys had been waiting for us there.

"Took you long enough!" John said, smirking. Grr, he likes to annoy me. Two can play that game, Mr. Lennon. I don't feel up to that now, though.

"It was a bloody minute." I said irritably.

"Don't mind him." George said.

"I'm not," I lied.

George raised his eyebrows at me. I looked out the window. It was another typically rainy, dreary day. It never stopped, did it? Where the hell was the sun anyway? Did it ever plan on coming out? I don't think it did.

We had gone to my old house (I'm calling it that already?) and retrieved my things. Which weren't much to start with, really. And we brought my cat, Nina, along—my little kitty. She'd been with me since I went away, and I couldn't really live without her. She was probably still napping under George's bed.

I rubbed my hands against my black dress. It was one of the old ones. My mum had made it for me the day I left. I never even got to thank her for it, and now she was gone. It was all about goodbyes, wasn't it?

Hmm... I quite enjoy hot showers.

And so went on the endless ramble inside my head. That is, until Prudence poked me (literally poked me) out of my reverie.

"Oh, we're here." I said. Everyone was waiting for me outside. _D'oh._

Prudence grabbed onto my hand while we walked towards the Beatles. John looked ready to say some remark. I shot him the death glare and said, "Shut up, Lennon." I wanted none of his nonsense right now. Especially not in my mother's funeral.

Ringo looked at me grimly with those big blue eyes of his. Why was he looking at me? What did I—

Before me stood various family members I hadn't seen in years, all with tears in their eyes, and they tackled me and Prudence in trembling hugs. I had no intentions nor feelings of crying. I looked over at my sister. Apparently, neither did she.

...

**Prudence**

I ran a hand through my hair. I didn't feel like doing anything to it. This wasn't a celebration was it? So why did I have to dress up. I stared glumly at my reflection. I flattened out my black dress and looked at the black watch on my wrist. 3: 30.

"Come on, we're gonna to be late," I said, running out of the room and grabbing Schala's hand.

"Took you long enough," John said as we walked out. His eyes were hard as he smirked at my sister. But he glanced at me for a moment, and the iciness melted away. I looked at my sister as she commented back. I looked at her. Her cold, slicing words were of no use right now. I don't know why she didn't freak out on John. She had done it to mom before.

I poked her, considering we were being left behind. And we arrived.

Had I known that fifty-thousand screaming girls would be there, perhaps I wouldn't have walked so casually out of the car. We had to fight our way through. Someone ripped off my watch.

All of our relatives were there. Crying and giving us hugs. Relatives I didn't know I had. They hugged me with tears streaming down their faces. We all sat down for the memorial service. All four of them had their heads hung low. Guilt?

And I stayed a silent stone. Until the end. It was overbearing for me. Too much all at once. And I had to escape. I had to run, run away from the pressure and pain, the collective sorrow.

I hoped they didn't think I'd be gone forever.

...

**Schala**

Until the end. After the burial. Tears welled in her eyes and she ran off. Running. Running away.

I remained rooted to the spot, calmly sipping wine. All of the guys looked at me, panicking.

"Shouldn't we go after her?" Ringo asked anxiously.

"Don't worry. She'll come back. She's Prudence. Unlike me, she likes to have somewhere to go to. She always comes back in the end."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sarah's AN: Well hiya everyone! We're thinking this chapter will be a little longer, so read and review! Anything to say to our readers Gaby?**

**Gaby's AN: Yeahhh, hi! Sorry we took so long: I'm lazy. o: Anyway, I'm really liking the fact that we got reviews so, uh...do it again. Thank you! if you do, and if you don't, then bleh. And I have a question! What do you think of both our OCs so far? Yeah...okay...bye. c:**

. . . . .

**Prudence**

"And where have you been?"

I turned at George's voice. The dark outside showed how long I was gone. George's eyes were sleepy and angry. His voice was stern, and he was the only one awake in the house.

"Docks. Water," I answered in one word sentences.

"Why?"

Tears again. I'm really becoming a crybaby, aren't I?

"Because! I'm just a CHILD! How do you expect me to deal with all this? All at once," I said.

"Pru, we know it's hard, but that doesn't give you an excuse to go running off!"

"George?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry. You're right," I whispered. He sighed and took my hand.

"Off to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."

...

**Schala**

I woke up thinking about food. Yes, food. Beautiful. Food. This led me to think of breakfast. I was suddenly utterly determined to cook. So, I jumped up from the fold-out couch (ahem, my bed) and looked around. The clock read 8:55. However, no one was up.

I tiptoed into the kitchen (although it really wasn't necessary) and opened the fridge. It desperately needed to be restocked. Pfft. Men. However, there was cereal. I guess there'd be no cooking. So I took out — wait, how many people were there here? — six bowls from the cupboard and poured cereal into each.

Walking over to the hallway that branched out into four rooms, I smiled evilly. "WAKE UP!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I heard a thud from the door to the left. "OW." said the voice.

"Darrbarrharhurwha...?" said another voice.

The left door opened after I yelled again. "_What _on _earth _could you possibly _want_ at five in the damn morning?"

I sighed. John is stupid. "It's nine, you dolt. And I made breakfast."

"Oh, food." he mumbled and walked out of the hall.

Well, three to go. "WAKE UP, GODDAMMIT!"

"This is cereal!" John yelled from the other room.

"Nobody gives a damn!" I yelled back irritably.

"Okay, what is it?" Ringo finally peeked through the door. His tousled hair made me laugh.

"Help me get Paul and George out of their rooms."

He looked at me skeptically.

"Aww, come on..._please_?"

"Fine."

John came into the now crowded hall, holding the cereal bowl and picking at it with a spoon.

"Lennon?" I said.

"What?" he said in a monotonous voice.

"You're going to wait for all of us to eat cereal at that table."

"But—"

"And you're going to like it."

"B—!"

"Your argument's invalid." I sneered, pulling off the same statement he had used on me a day ago.

"Ugh. You disgust me!" he said in a high-pitched, nasal voice, wandering off again.

"Git." I muttered and turned to Ringo. "Now let's get the other three."

Ringo nodded.

...

After ten minutes of repetitive knocks and yells, Ringo and I managed to rouse Paul, George and Prudence. So now we were all sitting at the table, eating cornflakes.

_Munch. Munch. Munch. Munchmunchmunchmunch._

"So." Paul mumbled.

"So." said Prudence.

"So?" John said quizzically.

"So..." Ringo said, as if he were appreciating the word.

"So." George stated plainly.

"Mmhmm." I said.

_Munchmunch._

"What's up with your hair?" John spontaneously asked.

"Whose hair?" Paul asked.

"Don't make fun of me hair, mate." Ringo said.

"I was—"

"I'll have you know, there are thousands of birds who love my hair."

"Ringo, shut up. I was talking to Schala."

"Oh."

"So," John said again with a roll of his eyes, "What the hell is wrong with your hair, Schala?"

My eyes slowly rose to meet his. I raised an eyebrow. "My hair? What's...wrong with my hair? What's wrong with it?"

"It's _blue_."

"Your point is?"

"Hair isn't naturally blue. Therefore, your hair is a freak."

"Pardon my hair for being the way it is, oh Almighty Lord." I said cynically.

"No, but really, why's it like that?" George asked.

"Oh. It's because—"

"So you'll tell him but you won't tell me?" John asked in a mock-hurt voice.

"Oh, shut it." I said.

"Yes, you're going to hear it anyway, John." Prudence piped.

"Well, when I was small, my hair was like Prudence's, yes? And I was at a science lab with my friend Ann, whose mother was a scientist so we snooped around for a while. I have no idea what it was, but I accidentally spilt a vial, a little bit, and it landed on my hair. Or at least I think it did. And a week later, it was blue. D'you remember that, Prudence?"

"No... At least, I don't think I do..."

"Yeah, you were about two. I wouldn't think you would."

"Guys, it's nine thirty. We have to be there at ten," George said all of a sudden.

"Be where?" Prudence asked.

"At the studio. We film today," Ringo answered.

"Ohh...can we come?" Prudence asked hopefully.

"It'd be a bit difficult..."

"_Please_?" Prudence insisted. "I've got nothing better to do."

"Read a book." John told her.

"Fine then..." said Prudence. "I don't have any books though."

"Forget it, you can come, luv." Paul said. "But Schala has to come too."

Prudence turned to me. "Sure." I said, standing up. "I'll go get dressed then."

"Why does _she _have to come, Paulie?" John complained.

I showed Mr. Lennon my pretty middle finger before walking off.

...

**Prudence**

I covered my ears, the screaming reaching them way before we had even gotten there. What was their obsession with these four? I mean, they were idiots at home!

All four waved at the girls as we walked out of the limo. They screeched and tried to break the policemens' grip.

"They're like rabid animals," I heard Schala murmur. Unfortunatley, these five had longer legs than I, and I was struggling to catch-up through all the chaos. Eventually, I got to the studio doors. I almost entered when a policeman blocked my path.

"Sorry lass, ya aren't 'lowd in there," he said, pushing me back.

"But I _have _to get in!" I said, pushing back.

"You can see them Beatles later, on the telly. Now off with ye!" he said, pushing me back into the crowd.

"Hey! I know you! You're Prudence Baker, the girl the Beatles adopted!" one girl shouted out. Suddenly, it was like thousands of people were screaming at me, asking for invites, autographs, anything under the sun that was Beatle-related. And I felt like my head was going to explode with the noise level.

"HEY!"

A loud shout stopped the noises for a moment, long enough for another wave of screams to penetrate my ears. John snatched my hand and pulled me out of the crowd. We walked by the policeman and I stuck my tongue out at him. John threw me into the room and sat me down. He rubbed his temples.

"Now Pru, WHAT were you thinking? Getting caught in that crowd. We coulda lost ya!" he said, anger in his voice. I glared at him.

"I was thinking that I better hurry to catch up because some people have the ability of walking faster than me in that much noise," I said, annoyance at his anger allowing my voice to rise.

"Pru! Ya gotta... get used to this! This is your life now!"

"Just give me time. It's all happening too fast."

"John? John! There you are. We're just about to start," one of the over-cheerful ladies said. John turned to me.

"I have to go now. Promise me you'll be more careful?"

"I promise," I said with a nod.

So I watched as they began to film on a train. The older man who played Paul's grandfather was very nice to me. The girls, however, were vicious to Schala, which made me shout at them. The director started to freak out while the boys watched with amused looks of their faces. Basically, it was chaos.

Eventually, we got settled down and I felt myself drifting off...

...

**Ringo's POV**

She's so cute when she's asleep!

...

**Schala**

It was quite amusing, really. Prudence got left behind, which sent John into panic mode, which was hilarious to see. Well, naturally, the others and I panicked too, but John just spazzed out. It was funny. Afterwards, they started filming. (My, this sounds like a monologue!) I'd gone with Mum to lots of film sets, so it didn't really surprise me when they shot the same short scene tons of times.

After some time, all these girls started hissing and screaming at me, which I was half-amused and half-pissed beyond belief at. I just watched with a neutral expression as Prudence yelled at them. And the fangirls swore at me like I couldn't hear them, which was just funny. Desperate lot of girls. One said, "What a little bitch! Sitting there like she can't hear us."

That remark just made me laugh like a buffoon while they were in the middle of a scene. Everyone just stared at me like I was some kind of otherworldly creature. The director, Richard Lester (quite a nice man, mind you), looked at me, frustrated.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lester," I said between laughs, "But these girls are hilarious! Didn't you hear what they said?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"_No_?" I practically died laughing, then switched the tone of my voice to a mock high pitch and repeated what they had said. The Beatles started laughing and I did so even harder thanks to John's bizarre, high-pitch, crazy laugh. Prudence glared at the girls, but a look of mirth crossed her face moments later, when she turned away from them.

Mr. Lester sighed. Poor man, we'd interrupted him millions of times. I don't think we'd be allowed to come back here. "Can we just get on with this now?"

"Yes, yes. I'm hungry." Ringo sighed.

"Eat your finger then, Ritchie." George laughed, poking Ringo.

Prudence facepalmed. I giggled (hooray for laughing!). Mr. Lester just looked miffed. John played with Paul's hair, attempting to braid it. Paul tried to swat John's hands away.

"But I'm not a cannibal, Geo!"

...

"That was funny." George remarked as we drove through the streets of London. The sun was setting.

"Funny? That was fuckin' hilarious!" Ringo exclaimed.

"Very out of character for Bitchy back there," John said, pointing to me.

I stuck my tongue out at him. Prudence hit him.

"You just don't hit _The Lennon_, luv!" John said in an odd matronly voice, looking fake-stern.

"He's lying. Hit him all you want, maybe it'll do him some good. He's all messed up in the head," spoke Paul from the driver's seat.

"Speak fer yerself, Jamesie!" John laughed, crossing his arms and lodging his feet next to Paul's head.

"Jamesie?" Prudence repeated quizzically.

"Oh, that's Paul's first name!" George replied with a silly grin.

"James?" I chuckled.

"Yes. James Paul McCarthy." Ringo spoke in total seriousness.

"It's McCartney."

"I know."

"PAUL!" Prudence screamed all of a sudden.

Everyone lurched forward as Paul abruptly stomped on the brakes. Paul looked back angrily as other cars honked at him. "_What_ the bloody hell was _that_ for?"

Prudence looked at him sheepishly. "I...I'm sorry..." Then she pointed somewhere to the right of the car. "There! That dog, Paul, you were going straight to it and I thought you were going to run over it!"

The dog was big and full of matted, dirty, black and white fur. It had so much hair I couldn't see its eyes. And it just sat to the right of the car, looking like it was smiling.

"It's...so absolutely cute!" I squealed. I have a thing for animals. Especially furry ones you can just hug and squish like plushies.

"It's so ADORABLE!" Ringo screamed like a five-year-old girl, his voice cracking. "I want it!"

"_What_?" George questioned. "It's adorable, but—"

"Oh please please please _please_ can we take her, George? Please please please please _please_?" Prudence begged, using her best puppy-eyes.

George eyed her warily. "_Pleaaaase_, George?" I joined in with my sister's petition.

"Come _onnnnn_, Georgie!" Ringo pleaded. "Come on!"

"GEORGIE!" Paul cried. "It's. So. Cute!"

"Well—" George began, but John cut him off.

"How d'you suppose to get the dog if ya don't do anything? I mean, really." John said, stepping out of the car and approaching the dog slowly. We watched as if it was the most important and cherished ritual in the world.

And then, the dog just rolled on the floor, belly up, looking at John with a dopey grin. John scratched it behind its ears, then walked away. The dog followed. He ran to the car, and it ran after him, jumping into the car before he even got there.

"Little doggy, hi!" Prudence smiled, scratching the dog, it licking her knee in response.

"You're so damn CUTE!" Ringo yelled.

"Well, we have a dog now." I laughed as it licked the tip of my nose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Gaby's AN: No, we're not dead. Well, Sarah remained alive, but I was kind of writer dead there for a while. But it's okay because we're back!**

**Sarah: Yeeaaahhhhhh...Sarah died too XD. Honestly, it was hard enough getting out the chapters of the other storiess...oh well! REVIEW FOR A FREE RINGO-HUG! :D**

* * *

**Schala**

"I now declare thee Dame Martha of McCartney!"

I stared at Paul, laughing at his mock-serious face and stance. He had his right foot on the sofa and his left hand on his hip, his right hand pointing at Martha, who was up on her hind legs — her front paws on the backrest of the couch.

"Who told you she could be Martha of McCartney?" Ringo asked in fake-rage. "I say she should be Martha of Starr!"

"Is your surname actually Starr?" Prudence asked.

"No, it's Starkey," he said.

"Then it's only obvious that she should be Martha of Star_key_, not just Starr."

"HA!" said Ringo. "See, Paul! Schala says we have to name her Martha of Starkey."

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that—"

"I refuse!" Paul yelled, flailing his arms like some...chicken.

"You're so silly, though," Prudence spoke. "It's only natural she'd be called Martha of Baker. Right, Schala?"

"_Oh yeah_. High-five me, Pru!" And we high-fived because we're cool and our last name's the best.

"No. No. WAIT. What about the Lennon?" asked John, coming in from the kitchen.

"Are you going to keep calling yourself that?" I asked.

"Yes."

"So it's settled then—" Prudence started, but was cut off by our dearest friend.

"No! Martha of Lennon. It's better than all of your last names."

"Hey! I'll have you know, John, that our surname means our ancestors were bakers. They _baked_. Take that."

"Well, _my_ ancestors Lennoned. Take _that_."

"No! My ancestors McCartneyed, and that is better than anything."

"Hey! What happened to _my_ last name? I'm a Starkey! A key of stars! A song in the key of Ringo Starr! I am the Star-fucking-key and I demand to be included! And—"

"Hey, where's George fucking Harrison?" I asked in the tune of Ringo's bold statement.

Everyone perked up at that, including Martha.

"George fucking Harrison!"

"George fucking Harrison?"

"George fucking Harrison."

"Look! the Georgie's in his room!" said Paul.

"George! My George! Are you alright, my George?" Ringo imitated a female voice. "My George if it weren't for thee I wo—"

"Sod off."

Ringo looked offended. Offended and sad. And with those big, adorable blue eyes, he looked like a lost puppy.

"Cranky, George?" John said, sitting on his bed.

"Shut up, John."

"Brooding?" I suggested.

"Mrrrrrrhhhhhhwhhhhmmm."

"The blonde girl. Is that it?"

"Mrrrr."

"I assume it is, then." I said. "The blonde girl? The one you were talking about? The model. The one on set. Blue eyes. Teeth. Hair."

"You're lucky he knows who you're talking about." Prudence said.

"Oh, that bird!" said Paul. "Oh, of course, we all know."

"Geor-gie got re-jec-ted!" John sang.

"Pattie Boyd?" said Ringo.

"Mhhhhh."

"Well, George, it doesn't really matter. You're a Beatle, and... Y'know, girls love Beatles. Probably every girl. Except...Schala and...me. Yeah, every girl. She'll be running to you in no time." Prudence said.

"Hmmm."

"Buh. Let's leave him to brood, then." said John.

"Bye, George," said Ringo as we went to the door. Everyone repeated this statement, as if we were waving off some senile relative.

George fell face-first onto the bed.

Once outside, Paul looked at Martha. "Hey, guys, don't you think we should give Martha a wash?"

"Yeah!" Prudence and I cheered. We used to have a nice dog. In the summers, we'd get in our bathing suits and play in the backyard with the water hose while bathing him.

"Oh, and when we're done, you are cooking something, Schala," John said. "I'll have you know, woman, I am starving."

...

**Prudence**

Being dressed up in a plaid dress was unusual for me. In fact, I didn't even want to be dressed up in this thing. But the fact that I was going to be hounded by press on my way to school simply made it a necessity. At least that's how Paul explained it. George told me that all the other girls would be wearing dresses too.

"Goddamn Paul! Hurry up with your make-up!" John shouted over his shoulder. Ringo bent down to my eye level

"Pru is gonna be late!" George yelled, running out the door.

"Excited for your first day?" he asked. I nodded and faked a smile, even though the thought of going back to those people filled me with dread. I already knew I'd be hounded by those crazed girls, asking me every question under the sun. And I'm not exactly an ugly girl. I don't really want more attention than I can get. I'm happy just to blend in with the crowd.

Paul ran out and grabbed my hand. He dragged me into the car where the other four were waiting impatiently. I honestly don't remember any conversation. Not one bit. If they had asked me to repeat anything, I wouldn't have been able to.

When I finally reached the school, all I did was wave goodbye at their smiles and turn to face the building.

I was scared to go back in there. To face those people. They were threatening me without realizing it. Putting me under so much pressure without knowing anything. By just their stares.

Lucky for me I was late. I didn't have to talk to any of them before hand. For now, I'd just ignore them and dread their ambush at recess. I knew it would happen. And I really was scared. They could do anything to me in there. They would suffocate me. And they knew exactly what they were doing. Every day. Every minute.

I knew I'd have to do it sooner or later. And I didn't want to be more late than I already was.

With a deep breath, I opened the door.

...

**Schala**

Everyone was gone.

Prudence was at school, the Beatles were at work. And I was...here. I trudged over to the window and looked at the cloudy midday sky.

Well, at least there was Martha.

I heard a _clink-clink-clink_ noise — the pitter-patter of her nails against the floor — and when they stopped I looked down and then kneeled. That way, we were roughly the same height.

She slobbered all over my nose and I laughed, scratching her behind the ear.

"Martha, you have a screwed-up name," I laughed.

While (quite chaotically) washing Martha last night, we had further discussed what her last name should be, and, by the time we were finished, drenched in water and suds, hungry and tired from chasing an escapee Martha around the house, we agreed that she'd have all of our surnames.

George showed up after a while because he was (typically) hungry, to find the floor all wet and slippery. Upon further inspection, he found us laughing at Paul, who had fallen into the bath, Martha happily licking his soapy face.

Then George took part in our great dog wash odyssey, despite his reluctance to get Martha in the first place. He seemed a bit more cheery over the Pattie Boyd thing too. He took a little more liking to Martha gradually, though he wasn't as enthusiastic as us.

But he still insisted that we named her Martha of Harrison.

And so Martha became Martha of Starkey Harrison McCartney Lennon Baker.

...

**Prudence**

If they had expected me to stay in school all day, they would be disappointed. I couldn't do it. From the stares I got from the moment I got in, I knew it would be a rough day. And as soon as we stepped out in those hallways for lunch, I was ambushed by girls. Jealous girls, desperate girls, needy girls, girls, girls, girls! What was the obsession? Not only were they in their twenties, these girls were eleven! There was no way they'd fall in love with an eleven year old! And they didn't understand when I told them no!

They kept suffocating me. I just had to go. I couldn't stay there. In fact, the only girl I wasn't being ambushed by was reading. All locked away in her own world. Out of any of them, she would be the one I'd be friends with. Not any of those greedy monsters.

So, I took a detour in the hallways and made a break for the door. None of the teachers were fast enough to catch me, so that wasn't a problem. I was doing quite well. And when I got outside, I pulled my hood over my head to block my face. It was raining, conveniently, so I didn't look suspicious.

I walked through the twisted streets, remembering the route to get back home. That was a benefit of my photographic memory. And I loved that.

But my real problem was when I got back home.

Schala would kill me.


End file.
